


This Fear of Feeling

by mouseratstan



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: Angst, Bets & Wagers, D/s, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fake Relationship, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Slow Burn, Smut, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:40:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24769432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mouseratstan/pseuds/mouseratstan
Summary: It was just supposed to be a harmless bet, that's all. It's just sex. Leslie never accounted for Ben actually falling for her— and it's too late now to tell him the truth."We're just having sex, no I would never call it love/But oh no, I think I'm catching feelings, and I don't know if this is empathy I feel/Hold on, remember when you said this was the last time?"
Relationships: Leslie Knope/Ben Wyatt
Comments: 36
Kudos: 48
Collections: Parks Fanfic Revival 2020





	1. Not Like This

**Author's Note:**

> Fake Dating AU for the 2020 Parks Fanfic Revival Collection.
> 
> This fic takes very heavy inspiration from the song "sex" by EDEN, including lyrics for the title and the fic summary.

“We need to do something about this. Right now.”

Leslie chokes. “Uh, right now?”

“Well, this year. This week, maybe. There's a party this weekend. I bet I can get it done then.”

She stares incredulously at Ann, her eyes wide. They've talked about this before, pretty extensively actually, but she still thought she had  _ time.  _ “Really? This weekend? Are you sure you wanna do it this soon?”

There's a mischievous look in Ann’s eyes, and she smirks at Leslie. “Of course. Why not? I  _ wanted  _ to lose my virginity before high school ended, and I really can't take the feeling of being a freshman in college and  _ still  _ having not had sex.”

Leslie gulps, because of course,  _ of course.  _ She's in the same boat as her, but this weekend… she glances at the calendar. “Oh, I don't know, Ann…”

“Here's an idea. Let's make it a bet.”

Both girls freeze, meeting each other’s gazes from across their dorm couch. And it's unfair, so unfair, because Ann knows she can't resist those words. She knows full well if she turns this into a competition, Leslie won't be able to resist. She's already clenching her fists in anticipation.

“I'm listening.”

Ann bites on a smirk and inches closer across the couch to Leslie, pushing a pillow to her chest in a way that shows just how eager she is for this. “A bet, or a competition, to see who can lose their virginity first. And the winner… the winner gets to pick where we eat for the rest of the semester.”

It's a bad idea. It's a terrible, awful idea, but Leslie’s brain is already spinning with ideas and outfits and pick-up lines. And she would much rather they eat waffles than salad for the rest of the semester. Besides, they  _ have  _ been saying for a while that they've wanted to get rid of this dumb virginity problem of theirs… and now they're nineteen, in their second semester of college, and there's a party this weekend. It really couldn't work out any better.

Leslie feels that familiar, addicting pull of competition, and she shakes hands with Ann. “You're on, Perkins.”

***

Leslie and Ann walk in together, after hours picking out outfits and doing makeup. Ann had insisted they buy new underwear for the occasion, and insisted on helping Leslie get ready even though they're working against each other.

But it doesn't matter. She knows they both look hot as hell. Her hair is curled and feels light on her bare shoulders, the straps of her red dress thin and only leaving so much to the imagination. And she knows  _ full well  _ this dress hugs her curves perfectly, and her boobs look great, and  _ goddammit she's so ready to beat Ann Perkins. _

“You look hot, like a beautiful space princess,” she tells Ann, remarking on her short and sparkling gown. “But you're super going down.”

“Oh, I'm going down, alright,” Ann grins. “And I'm going down before you.”

She scowls, glaring, and there's that feeling again, the need to win this competition at any costs, overwhelming her until it's all she can think about. “We’ll see about that. I think I see a good target already.”

Leslie’s eyes are locked on a pair of guys, two roommates that she recognizes from her classes. One is smiling, bright and cheerful, while the other nurses his beer like he’d rather be anywhere but here.

Ann follows Leslie's eyes and grins. “Ben Wyatt, huh? The guy who’s been pissing you off this whole year?”

“The very same.” She bites down on her bottom lip, staring at him across the way. His shirt is red plaid and thank god he's gotten rid of those awful skinny ties, his pants dark and his hair looking good enough to run her fingers through. Really, he's the perfect target, because Leslie  _ cannot stand Ben Wyatt.  _ He sits next to her in her history class and she swears she's never met someone so infuriating. “There's no risk of regret if I hate him, right? Fucking him could be the perfect way to get my anger out on that tiny nerd.”

Ann giggles, and gives her a high-five. “I support this. Ask him about his penis. I think  _ I  _ am going to go for his friend Chris.” She leaves Leslie’s side and is stealing Chris Traeger away in no time, as he takes her to get a drink. And Leslie is left alone and swearing because—  _ fuck,  _ she definitely doesn't have the courage to approach Ben, and she's running out of time.

She thanks all the powers that be that this party doesn't mind any underage drinking, and she heads to the kitchen for some liquid courage in the form of shots. She chokes down some crappy Smirnoff vodka, several shots in a row, and tries to breathe.  _ He’s alone.  _ She's watching him, and he's alone, still holding his beer and leaning against the wall. God, she hates him. He's so smug and thinks he’s so smart and he's so cool for understanding dumb things like numbers. She sees him on campus sometimes punching away at his calculator and she’ll stare at him and glare until he looks up, catching her eye, and she's forced to look away.

It happens a lot, actually. He always seems to catch her eye. He always seems to want to look there first.

And she wants— no,  _ needs—  _ to go make out with his stupid, terrible face right now before Ann beats her to the punch and she never hears the end of it and she has to eat  _ salad  _ for months. No, no no, no kind of fear is worth the risk of eating salad. Leslie takes more shots.

She waits until they start to kick in.

Over on the couch, Ann is getting real close to Chris, her legs laying across his lap.

She drinks even more. She hasn't even talked to Ben yet.

She grabs a hard lemonade for the journey and stumbles out of the kitchen, making a beeline for stupid, terrible Ben Wyatt with the smug face and pretty hair and big hands. He watches her as she approaches, and seems to look surprised when she stops right in front of him.

“Have I… did I do something wrong?” he asks her, furrowing his brows, and Leslie internally sighs. This might take work.

“Nope,” she says, the word popping on her lips. “Just thought I would come and keep you company.”

“Oh.” His face lightens, but he still looks weary, watching her as she leans against the wall next to him to keep her balance. “Um… you really want my company? What about your friend Ann?”

She doesn't ask him how he knows about Ann, or how they're friends. She just takes a drink from her lemonade and leans closer to him, peering into his eyes, studying just how brown they are. And suddenly she feels very, very drunk. “I wanted your company.”

Their faces are close together, and she notices how Ben seems to swallow, all nerves, shifting carefully. But he doesn't pull his eyes away from her. “Oh. Um, did you need something from me?”

_ Oh my god.  _ She grabs him by his shirt collar. “Jesus, you're useless sometimes, Wyatt,” she mumbles, and then she’s kissing him, pushing her body up against his and tugging him down to meet her. He freezes against her for just a moment, but then something seems to snap inside him, and his fingers are curling into her hair and his arm is sliding around her waist, crushing her into him.

Leslie parts her lips and welcomes the entrance of his tongue, consuming him until it feels like she can't breathe. They're tangled together in a mess of pulled hair and soft moans as he bites and pulls on her bottom lip, sending shivers down her spine. It's a miracle they're still standing as she shifts them and presses Ben’s body against the wall, his fingers tightening on her waist, rubbing up and down her hip. And she remembers suddenly they're in public, in the middle of a college party, as her fingers gently tug at the waistband of his dark wash jeans.

“Take me back to your dorm,” she whispers near his ear, her hands on his belt. “Right now.”

Ben shivers, squeezes her tighter, and doesn't say a word before grabbing her hand and dragging her towards the door. Leslie chances one look around to see Ann and Chris still positioned on a couch— very close to each other, but not at the point of making out. 

_ Take that, Ann. _

They call a cab to get to Ben’s dorm, all the way on the other side of campus from Leslie’s. But it's fine, because she really doesn't plan on going back tonight. He doesn't let go of her once and his fingers are fumbling with his key card until he can get his door open, Leslie distracting him with well timed kisses to his neck and her fingers slipping under his shirt.

As soon as they get inside, he's pulling her into his room and  _ slamming  _ her against his closed door, and she moans at the impact. He cradles her head, mumbles apologies, and she doesn't have time to respond before he's kissing her again, with a kind of hunger he was restraining back at the party. He's holding her face and his fingers are digging into her skin and it's just so goddamn  _ hot  _ that Leslie can't help but wonder why she didn't do this with Ben a long time ago.

She rips his belt from his pants and tosses it aside, just as his hand slides down from her face to grab her breast over her dress, gently squeezing. Leslie moans, and Ben steps back to pull her with him, but all she does is stumble, missing him completely and falling to her knees.

_ “Fuck,”  _ she hisses, her knees stinging, and for a moment she feels like she's going to pass out entirely. She can't get up from the floor and her limbs feel heavy, Ben’s feet in front of her looking fuzzy and out of focus. “Fuck, what's wrong with me?”

“Leslie?” He sounds concerned, kneeling next to her and grabbing her shoulder to support her. “Oh, shit, how much did you have to drink tonight?”

“Enough,” she spits, her head dropping. “What's… what's that have to do with anything?”

Ben frowns, and pulls her into his arms. “You're way too drunk. You need water and sleep.”

And, suddenly realizing this night and her plans are coming to a giant, screeching halt, she grips Ben’s shirt and shakes her head. “What? No, no, I'm fine now. Where were we?”

“Leslie—”

“Just fuck me, Ben.”

Ben sighs, and pulls her over to his bed, laying her down on it and then stepping aside. He frowns at her, pushing her hair from her face, and plants a small kiss on her forehead. “Not like this,” he whispers. “Not like this.”

And she wants to argue, but she's already finding herself slipping off into sleep.


	2. Say Please

She wakes up with a headache, in an unfamiliar room.

She's still in her red dress from the night before, with a blanket over her and a full glass of water and some Advil on the bedside table. Only for a split second does she wonder where this came from, as she quickly takes the pills, before she remembers.

_ Ben. _

She pulls the blanket off of her and sits with her legs off the bed, stretching them as she tries to think. She knows for a fact she didn't have sex with Ben last night, which is kind of a bummer, but she can make up for lost time, right? She has no clue where Ann is, or how far Ann’s gotten, but she has to still have a chance in this game, right?

Besides, Ben is a very, very good kisser.

The bedroom door opens and Ben walks in, looking freshly showered and dressed in a t-shirt and plaid pajama bottoms. For whatever goddamn reason, the sight makes Leslie bite down on her bottom lip, looking him up and down.  _ God, she hates him.  _ “Hey,” he greets her with a shy smile. “You're awake. How's your head?”

“Mushy,” she admits. “Uh, thank you for taking care of me. I guess I was kind of a mess last night.”

Ben shrugs, taking a couple steps closer to her. “You were a lot drunker than I was, it's fine.”

“Did you… uh… I'm sorry I kicked you out of your bed. You didn't sleep on the floor, did you?”

“Oh— no, I slept on the couch in the common area. Don't apologize, there are worse places to sleep.”

“Still, I'm sorry.” She can't take her eyes off him, and he's still giving her that sheepish smile, biting the inside of his cheek. He’s slightly jittery, she can tell, and her eyes quickly dart down to the front of his pajama pants.  _ Oh. _

And she realizes that, still in her dress and sitting on the edge of his bed, her hair is likely a mess and her legs are very, very bare to him, all the way up to her thighs. 

She bites back a smirk.  _ Oh. _

Ben clears his throat and shifts awkwardly. “Um… you… you remember last night, right?”

She laughs. “I know we didn't have sex, Ben.”

“We almost did,” he mumbles, said so quickly and quietly that it's like he's gasping the words, trying to find air. “Do you… do you regret it? Kissing me like that?”

She shakes her head. “No. I don't regret it. Do you?”

“God, no,” he says, no hesitation. “I just… I just thought you might, because you've never seemed interested before. I guess I always kind of thought you hated me.”

_ I do kind of hate you. You're hot and you're nerdy and you aggravate me to no end.  _ “No. I don't hate you.”

He inches closer to her again, and all she can focus on is the slight tenting of his pajama bottoms. “Thank god. Because… last night, I've wanted to do that for a while. I really did. I still do.”

And Leslie doesn't care that she still has a hint of a headache, that she just woke up from sleeping in his bed all night, and she probably doesn't look at her hottest. She's not here to impress him, not really, and his words are proof she can get what she came here for. “Well…” she whispers, and he's close enough now that he can still hear her, “I sure liked the way you took control last night, Wyatt. And I've heard some rumors an orgasm can help with headaches.”

Ben grins. “Right now?”

“I'd really appreciate it if you could fuck my headache away.”

God, it's so easy to be forward when there's no romantic attachment. Because without that fear of rejection in the back of your mind, the fear of not being good enough, what is there to be worried about? And it's all the permission Ben needs, because suddenly he's standing between her legs and gripping her bare thighs tightly, pushing her dress further up. “You're okay with this?”

“I swear to god, Wyatt, if I have to spell it out any clearer—”

He interrupts her with a kiss, wasting no time at all in sticking his tongue in her mouth. She moans at the intrusion, his hands sliding farther up her legs until they're at her hips, pressing into her skin— before he fists the fabric of her dress and completely rips it off over her head.

Her underwear is lacy and black and was bought just for him to see and tear off. And it has exactly the desired effect, Ben pulling back to gape at her, his fingers squeezing her waist, his head dipping to kiss the spot above her breasts. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”

His voice is breathy and in awe and she doesn't care for it. She's not here to be beautiful, she's here to be fucked. She ignores him and she darts to grab the waistband of his pajama pants, just to be stopped in her tracks. Ben grabs both her wrists in his hands and pushes her down onto the bed, climbing on top of her and holding her arms above her head. “I take control,” he hisses at her, and she responds with a choked moan, swallowed by another kiss. And all she can do is nod, nod and take it, because goddamn,  _ she hates this man for how sexy he is. _

Ben pulls one of his awful skinny ties from his bedside table and uses it to tie her wrists to the headboard so he has freedom of his own hands. She tugs lightly, testing the strength, just as he pulls her strapless bra from her body and immediately bites down on a nipple, making her gasp.

“Ben,” she moans, wishing she could run her fingers through his hair, but actually finding it sexier that she isn't able to. “Ben.”

He palms her breast while one hand snakes down to slip into her underwear, just gently enough to make her shiver. His finger teases her, only the ghost of a touch, and the look on his face when he watches her is so goddamn smug that it pisses her off— and turns her on all the more.

“Say please,” he tells her, and she's so appalled by this suggestion that for a moment, she can't answer him at all. She's not going to say  _ please,  _ not to Ben Wyatt, not to this hard-ass who shows her up in class and has no real feelings for anything, she won't do that—

He senses her refusal, circles her clit with his thumb agonizingly slowly only twice, and then pulls his hand from her completely. He grins at her gasp, and raises his thumb to push it into her mouth. She sucks lightly, maintaining eye contact, and he repeats himself. “Say please.”

_ Stupid, awful, terrible, jerk, mean Ben Wyatt— _

He pulls his thumb from her mouth and hooks his fingers in the waistband of her underwear, pulling them down her legs and to the floor. And she thinks she's good, she thinks they're moving on and they're getting somewhere, because he's throwing her legs onto his shoulders and sliding his face between them, close enough so she can feel his breath, close enough that she is shivering and her back is arching and she really, really needs him to touch her.

Ben smirks.  _ “Say please.” _

Leslie breaks, like she's completely snapped, unable to handle the teasing for one more second.  _ “Please,”  _ she whines, hardly recognizing her own voice. “Please, please—”

The words catch in her throat as he shoves his tongue inside her, the arm holding her hips down twisting so he can press his thumb to her clit. He starts off slow, almost agonizingly slow, taking his time as if he hopes to memorize her. And Leslie’s no complete stranger to this— she’s had ex-boyfriends go down on her before, but never quite like  _ this.  _ Never with such careful dedication to making her cum, to making sure she's enjoying herself, and never has she felt this  _ good  _ before.

She's panting  _ please  _ under her breath like a mantra, like it's her favorite word. He builds her up and he pushes two fingers inside her and curls them, making her legs shake, and as she climbs all she can do is whimper  _ please,  _ not his name, not wanting to get too personal, just  _ please,  _ please more, please harder, please faster, please rougher.

Leslie is left writhing and panting with the force of her orgasm, her entire body trembling, still whispering  _ please,  _ whimpering unintelligible words, and she feels out of control and sweaty and aching and it's all she can do to say,  _ “Please fuck me.” _

Ben grins, and she wishes she could wipe that self satisfied smirk off his face. “Only because you asked so nicely.”

She doesn't even remember at what point his pants come off, but now he's rolling on a condom and he's slowly pushing himself into her, and it's all she can do to gasp, squeeze her eyes shut, dig her nails into the fabric of the tie above her head, and  _ it hurts.  _ She breathes deeply and somehow, she doesn't even have to say anything. Ben knows. He's careful and he's considerate and now he is gentle, pulling her wrists from the tie so she can hold onto him as tightly as she needs to.

He cums later with a grunt, collapsing onto her and burying his face in her hair. He is drawing lazy circles on her skin with his fingers and she is tired, so tired, and doesn't know what to do now, but all she knows is that a big part of this  _ one night stand  _ kind of thing is not cuddling in bed afterwards. Especially not when she doesn't even like the guy romantically.

Just sexually. She likes him quite a bit sexually.

So she detaches herself from him and stands up on her wobbly legs, picking up her discarded clothes from the floor. Ben leans up on one of his elbows and watches her, tilting his head. “Are… are you leaving?”

She doesn't really look at him, just pulls her dress back over her head. “I think I should,” she says. “I have to meet a friend. But, this was great, really. I'll see you in class, right?”

Ben’s lips twist into a frown, and his eyes look sad, all in a way that Leslie pretends not to notice. “Um— yeah. Yeah, I guess. Can… can I call you, sometime? Get your number?”

Leslie bites her lip, finishing getting dressed and grabbing the rest of her things. “Maybe,” she says, and it's all she can say before she slides out of his room, closing the door behind her.

God, she has a lot to tell Ann.


	3. Keep Quiet

It's only now that Leslie kind of hates that her dorm is on the other side of campus from Ben’s, because it means quite the walk. That, and the fact that with her dress and her heels and her very disheveled hair and makeup… it's clear to any passerby that she's currently experiencing something akin to a  _ walk of shame. _

And she doesn't know if she feels shameful. On one hand, she's not a virgin anymore, the sex was great, and she totally has a chance at beating Ann in this competition. But on the other hand, she had sex with Ben Wyatt, resident jerk and Numbers Robot.

Not that he was a jerk last night. Or that morning, actually. Whatever. She doesn't want to think about it.

She's achy and sweaty by the time she pushes open her dorm room door, ready to shower and change, just to find Ann in sweats lounging on the couch, positively glowing. And Leslie can't help but tell her immediately.

“HA!” she exclaims, leaning over and pointing a finger at Ann. “Ha! Guess who just had sex with one Benjamin Wyatt?”

Ann grins, arching a brow. “You did just now? This morning?”

She ties her hair up on top of her head and fans her face, feeling hot. “Yup, just this morning. I've heard girls say that the worst and skinniest guys have the biggest dicks. I think they're on to something there.”

“That's funny,” Ann muses, drawing her words out. Leslie doesn't like this tone. “Because guess who had sex with one Chris Traeger  _ last night  _ when we left the party?”

Leslie freezes, her heart feeling like it's just dropped into her stomach. Did she just… did she just lose? Did she just have sex with nemesis Ben Wyatt just to have to eat salad for months anyway? No, no no no, this is unacceptable.  _ “Shit,”  _ she hisses. “Okay, no, this isn't the end.”

Ann giggles, opening her arms. “I won fair and square, Leslie!”

“No, not fair! I was going to last night but that  _ jerk  _ put me to bed and said I was too drunk!”

“I… what? That's actually really sweet of him—”

_ “Oh don't you call him sweet.”  _ He's a good fuck, not a good guy. “No, this isn't over, Ann Perkins. I suggest… an extension.”

“An extension? How the hell would we even extend this?”

Leslie smirks, the idea coming to her suddenly. And it's so perfect, so genius, that there's no way she or Ann could resist. She's light and floating on air and she has a million plans already. “We go for the rest of the semester. We count up how many times we have sex until the end of this semester. Whoever has the highest number wins.”

She can see the gears turning in Ann’s brain, just as interested as she is. She shifts on the couch, watching Leslie carefully. “And what do we win?”

“When we go back to Pawnee this summer, winner gets to pick every outing. Not just food-wise, but  _ everything.” _

“I think you have a deal.” Ann and Leslie shake hands, gripping tightly, locking eyes. “For the record, it can all come from the same guy, right?”

“Oh, of course. This is about sex, but the last thing I want is to have sex with a ton of different guys.”

“Great,” Ann sighs. “Then I think  _ I  _ am going to go call Chris. You might wanna clean up.”

Leslie stares down at her dress and her wobbly heels and nods her head. “Yeah. I'm gonna shower first. And then I’ll—” she remembers suddenly how her morning with Ben had ended, so awkwardly and rushed, just on a  _ maybe.  _ If this is going to work… Leslie sighs. “And then I'll go make amends.”

_ Damn you, Ben Wyatt. _

…

The problem with trying to have continuous sex with one Ben Wyatt is that it will require copious amounts of  _ wooing  _ him. Even just as a friends with benefits, fuck-buddy type of scenario, it requires her to be  _ nice  _ to him. It requires her to try even harder. Especially now, as she stands in front of him in one of the campus courtyards.

He had been sitting on one of the tables alone, his books out, a calculator in front of him, and a hot to-go cup of coffee that he was slowly making his way through. She knows this because she had been watching him, trying to get up the courage to approach him before her class starts in an hour, going through her plan over and over again in her head.

The first step is owning up to what she did.

“Leslie,” he exclaims as soon as she approaches him, and he nearly chokes on his coffee, setting the cup far away from him. “Oh, hi. Is, uh, everything alright?”

She bites down on her bottom lip and takes a deep breath. It's now or never, and she's not about to let Ann beat her at her own bet. “I wanted to talk to you,” she mumbles. “I wanted to say I'm sorry for what happened yesterday morning.”

“Oh, this is about yesterday—”

“Yes.” She squeezes her eyes shut, but he looks just as nervous as she does. “You seemed kind of upset when I left in such a hurry, and for that, I'm sorry.”

Ben pauses, as if thinking, and pushes his books away from him. She could take the seat next to him, but it doesn't feel quite safe yet. She needs him to say something. “It's okay,” he says, but his voice sounds weak. “I… I was coming on too strong, you don't owe me anything. I guess I just thought… that we had a good time.”

She winces. God, why does he sound so upset? They've been butting heads all year and now all of a sudden it matters to him? She wants to be angry, so desperately, but she reels it in, tries to focus.  _ Remember Ann, remember the bet. She's probably off fucking Chris Traeger right now.  _ “That's the thing, I did have a good time! I had a really great time. And I don't know why I acted like that. I guess I was just scared, and had to run away.”

Okay, yes, that's a good lie. He seems to buy that.

He even reaches out to touch her hand, and she accepts, pressing her palm to his. He is slightly shaky and gentle. “You have nothing to be scared about,” he tells her. “I don't regret it, if that's what you thought.”

She exhales. This is going better than she thought it would. “Thank you, for that. I… And I would like to call you, sometime. Put my number in your phone. And what we did that morning… I wouldn't be opposed to doing it again.”

“Neither would I,” he grins, squeezing her hand. “Do you… want to come by tonight? Chris’ll probably be out again.”

_ Goddammit, Chris is out at night?  _ That can only mean Ann is on the move and getting her numbers up quicker than she expected. No, no, Leslie needs faster than tonight. She needs— “How about right now?”

“I— what?”

“Right now. I have an hour before class. I know a place we can go.”

Ben packs all his things away, throws away his coffee, and only minutes later she’s shoving him into the back closet of an empty classroom that her friend Donna told her about. It's cramped, and dark, and not ideal, but they can make do.

The second the door is shut, Ben is on her, pushing her against the wall and kissing her furiously. They are a flutter of quick hands and clothing— he tears at the buttons on her blouse and shoves her bra up to her neck, and she's working on unzipping his pants as his free hand shoves it's way down into her underwear.

She gasps, arches her back, and Ben looks up to grin at her, eyes dark. “You're so wet,” he whispers, and she shivers. “This does it for you?”

His hand is on her throat, pushing her against the wall, and she gasps. “You have no idea.”

Leslie gasps as he squeezes, bordering on fully choking her, her body writhing underneath him. And this… this is the Ben Wyatt she enjoys. Not mean and unfeeling Ben from class, or stuttering and awkward Ben from one-on-one conversations, but then Ben that literally takes her by the throat and turns her into a whimpering mess, the Ben that takes charge and makes her say things like,  _ “Please.” _

He tugs her pants off, frees his erection, and pulls her underwear aside, all while keeping one hand firmly planted on her throat. “Can you keep quiet?” he asks her close to her ear. “We have to be quick, and you have to be quiet.”

“I can try,” she whispers, and he squeezes her throat to the point that her eyes roll back, and she's all the more turned on for it. He fucking knows it, too, one hand cupping between her legs, and  _ damn him, damn him.  _

“Do or do not, there is no try.”

“Did— did you really just quote Yoda at me while we’re fucking?”

Ben purses his lips. “You're right, bad call.” And then he's shoving into her, her moan of surprise loud enough that his hand leaves her throat to clasp tightly over her mouth.  _ “Shhh, shhh. Be quiet.” _

She can only nod, looking him in the eye the entire time, as he pushes into her again. He waits until she seems to relax, her muscles aren't so tense, and then he's lifting her up off the floor, holding her against the wall, and  _ pounds  _ into her, fucking her quickly and furiously.

It might be fast, and hard, and in a closet on a college campus, but something about this feels personal. It's dark, but maybe it's the way he's close enough that she can see the exact color of his eyes. They’re quiet, but maybe it's the hushed grunts and whimpers shared between them, exhaling together. But more than anything, it's the way she feels when he makes her cum, as she climbs over the edge, so ridiculously intense that for a moment, she forgets where she is, and she doesn't think, and  _ she likes that. _

God, she likes that.

Leslie is always thinking. She's always moving, coming up with new ideas, starting projects, getting people together. Even in her sleep, she's talking and vividly dreaming and moving too much. And she loves that, she's always loved it. But there's something about Ben, something about the way he grabs her and makes her slow down and forces  _ every thought in her head out the window,  _ that she really, really likes.

When they both finish, Ben takes a moment just to hold her, and his touches turn gentle. His thumb strokes her cheek and his face is buried in her hair, pressing only the ghost of a kiss to her temple. And it's this single action that scares her more than anything, because all the thought comes back into her brain.

Leslie doesn't want to think. She doesn't want to  _ feel.  _ Not like this, not like this. And she convinces herself it's fine, that she and Ben are on the exact same page.

_ It's just sex, after all. _


	4. Bigger Lies

Since the very first time he saw her, Ben thought Leslie was beautiful.

She hadn't liked him, of course, as they sat next to each other on their first day of their first semester of college. They were taking a math class, then, and he saw the way she struggled over the numbers, the bite of her lip, the way she pushed her hair back over her ear, the look of concentration on her face— and he thought she was beautiful.

And maybe he had been overstepping, a little, when he took it upon himself to reach out and try to help her with a particular math problem, and she pushed her papers away from him. Maybe he even found her a little irritating, at first, when it turned into arguing, and he shut down, and she accused him of being unfeeling.

But it's not that Ben is unfeeling, really. He just only feels in private, in the protection of his own head, where he can't be yelled at and he can't get hurt. Because outwardly, it's easier to get through life if you remain objective. So, his growing crush on Leslie Knope never came out, never met the light of day. It was like his secret pleasure, falling for her— watching her when she wasn't looking, smiling at her achievements, shaking it off when she yelled at him and imagining her later on when he was supposed to be falling asleep. Picturing kissing her, holding her, making her smile, making her moan.

But she hated him. So when she came up to him at that party and  _ kissed  _ him…

All bets were off.

He couldn't help it, he let his guard down. Because he got to kiss her, and she slept in his bed. They had sex in the morning and the next day in a closet. She wants to keep talking to him, she wants to  _ know  _ him…

And suddenly it's like Ben doesn't know how to be unfeeling anymore. Suddenly it's like the world has opened up to him and he feels lighter, happier, up in the clouds. He smiles more (which Chris seems to notice) and there's a skip in his step as he goes to meet her. He has her number and he gets to text her, call her, and she actually invites him to her dorm— it's more than he ever thought he could be with her.

“You look good,” she tells him, pulling him into her dorm room and shutting the door. He stares, open mouthed, at her dorm, the walls, the papers scattered about, taking it all in. All so uniquely  _ her. _

“And you look beautiful,” he tells her. She's just in jeans and a t-shirt and her hair is in little pigtails, but he swears she's never been more beautiful than in this moment. “Leslie, I… I need to—”

He needs to do so many things. Talk to her, tell her everything. Figure out where they stand, where they're going to go from here. He needs her to know how long he's wanted her and he wants to know at what point she changed her mind about him. And he opens his mouth to speak, just to be interrupted by her mouth on his.

His words are cut off and muffled, and he kisses her back, because her lips are soft and she is warm so how could he not? But her kiss is much more passionate than his, much rougher, and it isn't until her hands are sneaking down to his belt that he knows he needs to put a stop to this.

Ben pulls away from her and takes her by her shoulders, taking a step back. “Hey,” he mumbles. “I… I was actually wondering if we could talk.”

He's surprised by the look on her face, shifting back and forth, and her hand slides up his arm to rest on his chest. “We could talk…” she muses, taking a step closer again, “or we could hardcore make out and take our clothes off.”

He laughs, and pulls her hand away again, taking it in his and interlocking their fingers. “Oh, come on, I don't want our whole relationship to be just sex,” he jokes, smiling down at her. But something in her face switches again.

“Oh, yeah,” she mumbles, looking away from him. “Uh— yeah, of course. Not just sex.”

“I just… I wanna be able to take you out. Go to dinner with you. Hold your hand and show you off on campus. Kiss you as you fall asleep.” He's going too far. He's rejected her advances and now he's going too far, showing too many of his feelings. “I'm sorry, I— it's just that I've wanted this for a long time, haven't you?”

He waits, and she shifts in his arms, as if thinking things over. She meets his eyes for only a second, and he's terrified of the possibility of rejection, that he's going too fast for her, that he feels too deeply for her. But she lowers her eyes, and she nods.

“Yeah,” she says. “I've wanted this, too.”

…

It's one of the first and biggest lies that Leslie tells.

And she justifies it by saying she needs to do this, that it's the only way to beat Ann. Without Ben, she’ll have to move on to an entirely different guy, which she doesn't want, especially when she's gotten this far with Ben already. And if she needs to pretend a little to keep Ben, so what?

It's all part of the competition.

When the semester ends it'll be all over, anyway. Leslie and Ann will say goodbye to Ben and Chris and they'll go back to Pawnee. They'll be remembered as their freshman year flings and no feelings will be hurt because in the end,  _ it's just sex.  _ The guys won't care. All guys want to do is have sex, anyway. And if Ben wants to play a little bit of the wooing game, so what? She’ll let him. It won't mean much to either of them, but she’ll let him.

So she holds his hand. She gets coffee with him in the morning. She sits next to him in class and stifles her annoyance at how much better he is with facts sometimes. She calls him before she goes to bed, and she lets him call her  _ babe.  _ She plays along, and she watches Ann as she sneaks off with Chris everyday, watches Ann as her numbers get a lot higher much quicker.

So they have sex. And as it turns out, the more Leslie plays this game of pretend with him, the more Ben wants to have sex often.

After two weeks, Leslie finds herself on her knees in Ben’s dorm room, his fingers curled into her hair, his moans soft as she works on him. He grips her head tightly and her nails dig into his thighs, and when she pulls away to wipe her mouth, he's shaky and frowning.

“I'm sorry,” he says. She shakes her head.

“You don't have to be sorry.”

“I— I didn't mean to. I'm usually better at holding out than that.”

She wasn't on her knees for long before he came, and she believes him, because it's her fourth time doing this to him and this is the quickest it's ever been over. Leslie doesn't mind too much; it must mean she did a good enough job. But at the same time, it means he won't be ready to fuck her— and what does that even mean for the bet? Can she count this as having sex? Maybe it's half a point…

“It doesn't matter,” she tells him. “We can just wait until you're ready again.”

“I— we will?”

She grins and slides up, only in her underwear. “Mhm. I'll stay here and we’ll wait.”

Ben frowns, and grabs for her waist. “I don't know how long it'll take, babe. I could go down on you…”

She kisses his jaw, which she's found is the perfect place to kiss him when she needs him to calm down.  _ So, very often.  _ “I need you inside me, Wyatt,” she tells him, and he inhales sharply. “I can wait.”

So he sits back on the bed, and she takes this opportunity to look around his dorm room, a task she's never taken on before, not in depth, despite how many hours she's spent in here. And she doesn't know why, because the closer she looks, the more she realizes Ben’s room is filled with tiny, genuine touches of  _ him.  _

He loves  _ Star Wars,  _ but she already knows that. He has all the  _ Game of Thrones  _ books, including a miniature Iron Throne that sits on top of them. She spots posters, all things sci-fi, fantasy, and in between, all things nerdy. She spies… political biographies.

“Oh my god,” she gasps, reaching over and pulling one out. “I  _ love  _ this book, are you kidding me?” It's one on women in politics and it's very obviously well-read, with post-it notes sticking out the edges to mark areas of interest. “You've read it?”

“Of course,” he grins. “It's one of my favorites. I'm… I actually considered majoring in political science.”

Leslie flips through his book, turning it to read his notes on it. “Why didn't you?”

He shrugs, and suddenly he looks bashful, staring at his hands. “Accounting is just… it's better. I don't think politics is such a good idea for me right now.”

“Well, why not?” Leslie brushes her fingers over the rest of his political biographies, of which he seems to have a very extensive collection. It's strange to her, how she's never known this about him, and her brows furrow in concentration. “I mean, are you interested in running for Office someday, like me?”

At this, Ben takes a deep breath, tightly gripping the blanket he has in his lap. His hair is a mess from the ways she's pulled it and because he won't stop running his fingers through it, and if he seemed nervous before, it's nothing compared to now. “I, uh… I actually have run for Office.”

“Wait, what? But you're only nineteen. How could you—” It hits her so suddenly that she feels sick to her stomach, putting her hand to her chest. “Oh my god.  _ Oh my god.  _ I'm so blind.” Because how could she have missed this? How could she have forgotten something like this? Images of  _ his  _ face in the papers almost two years ago, pictures and articles that she held to her chest and pinned in her scrapbooks, sitting up at night and praying for his success.  _ Less than two years ago. “You're Benji Wyatt?” _

Ben winces, looking up at her cautiously. “I am.”

And he looks the same, too, if not a little more grown up. A little more angular, a little more stubble on his cheeks, so how can she have missed something as big as sleeping with the  _ eighteen-year-old Mayor of Partridge, Minnesota?  _ And that's when she remembers… she never did find out how his story ended. She knew he was elected and she never found out what happened. But if he's here, in Indiana with her, instead of Minnesota… “Oh my god, I was so jealous of you. What happened?”

“You shouldn't have been,” he sighs. “I was… I was stupid. I ended up kind of ruining my life, bankrupting my town with some winter sports complex, called it  _ Ice Town.  _ I ended up getting impeached and practically ran out of Partridge. So… so I'm here.”

_ Impeached.  _ Leslie shudders at the word, and shakes her head repeatedly. “No… no, that's ridiculous. I thought you were amazing. Mayor at eighteen? I just…”

She's in front of him again before she even realizes it, and he pulls her closer, his fingers digging into the bare skin on her waist, kissing her collarbone. “Just… just don't tell anyone, okay? It's my first full year away from my hometown and I'm just trying to keep it quiet, to get away from that part of my life, start new. But… I trust you. So I wanted you to know.”

_ I trust you. _

“I won't tell anyone,” she tells him, and her stomach twists uncomfortably. Her arms wrap around his neck, fingers curling into his hair, and she needs him, she needs him  _ now,  _ to push her into this mattress until she forgets her name and her guilt and her thoughts. “Besides,” she whispers, “at least you tried something.”

Ben breaks into a smile that is so genuine that it could be heartbreaking. And the way that he looks at her, as if he's seeing something new in her, his eyes dark and wide and like he might start crying at any moment. He pulls her down and she straddles his lap, and she's relieved to feel his growing erection against her thigh— this will be a much needed distraction from these feelings.

“Thank you,” Ben says, and his hands are shaky on hers. “Thank you. Thank you for being here. For being with me. For caring—” She kisses him, swallows his words, doesn't let him finish, doesn't let him come up for air. She knocks him down on the bed and she kisses him until he can't breathe, until he can't remember what he was going to say in the first place.

She can't ever let him say those words. No, talking isn't safe. Sharing secrets isn't safe, not for this. If she's going to play this game, she needs to stick to her own set of rules. They are not meant to care, or to trust, or to love. It's just sex. It's just skin on skin and heavy breathing and no thoughts between the two of them, no room for anything but ruthlessly fucking the other.

Leslie just might beat Ann, yet.


	5. Soup and Waffles

Over the course of the next month, Leslie and Ann have remained neck in neck over numbers. When Leslie is a little higher, Ann will smirk and pull out her phone to text Chris. And when Ann pulls her numbers up, Leslie doesn't even bother to text before she's making the journey to Ben’s dorm room.

It works for them. Ben is none the wiser, buying Leslie coffee in the mornings, kissing her at lunch, and fucking her into the night, just to fall asleep with his face pressed into her hair.

And now, Ann is up in numbers,  _ three numbers higher than her,  _ right before Leslie has a huge presentation due in hers and Ben’s history class. And to make matters even worse, she's thrown up like… five times today.

But she's not sick.  _ Nope,  _ not sick at all. Her allergies are just acting up, and she’ll be totally fine to do her presentation and  _ then  _ jump Ben’s bones.

“You should really get some sleep,” Ben tells her, as she's curled into the blankets on his bed with her books in her lap. “Leslie, you can just tell the professor you're sick—”

“I'm not sick!” she insists, but her voice sounds raw. “It's just allergies, or something. I'm not sick. Even if I was, class is in an hour. There's no time to tell him now.”

Ben frowns, and sits on the bed next to her, putting his hand to her forehead. “Okay, you're burning up.”

“No,  _ you're  _ burning up,” she giggles, and her head rolls back, as if she's having a hard time keeping it up on her own. She struggles to keep her eyes open.

“Look, babe, I'll just tell him you're sick when I go to class, okay? I'm sure he'll understand, and you can reschedule your presentation—”

“No! I never reschedule! I can do this, Ben, trust me, I—”

She freezes at her own words.  _ Trust me.  _ Two words, and she hates them, she hates them so much, like acid on her tongue, because how could she ever ask Ben to trust her? Suddenly her stomach is twisting painfully, and she jumps up to rush to the bathroom, kneeling over the toilet just in time.

She starts to cry as she throws up, hating the burning in her throat, and her headache, and hating the inconvenience of this flu. And she hates the way Ben is suddenly at her side, pulling back her hair, rubbing her back soothingly. She wipes her face and she leans back into him, as he sits cross legged and pulls her into his lap on the bathroom floor.

“Hey,” he whispers into her ear, his arm looped around her torso. “Hey, what's wrong? Why are you crying?” His fingers stroke her cheeks, brushing away her tears, and she finds herself leaning into his hand.

“Shit,” she hisses. “I'm sorry, I’m… I'm sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?”

She shakes her head, because she doesn't even know. She doesn't know, she just feels like she has to say it. She's just sad, and he's holding her, and this flu is making her far more emotional than she should be. “I don't know,” she chokes. “Just… do you have any medicine?”

So he pulls her up into his arms, stacks up her books, and lays her in his bed. He sets some medicine down on his bedside cabinet and brushes her hair from her face, kisses her forehead, and her eyes flutter shut. And she doesn't fight it, not right now. Not while he's still in the room. “Get some sleep, babe. I'll let the professor know.”

Her eyes stay shut as he walks out the door, but she doesn't go to sleep.

…

“What the hell are you doing here?”

She's making a mistake, she knows that, deep down. Her legs are wobbly and the medicine is addling with her brain and she hardly knows what she's saying— and what if she says something to Ben that she shouldn't? What if she says something about the bet and Ben realizes this isn't the relationship he thinks it is?

_ No, no. Focus on your presentation. You have to do this. _

“You don't understand,” she tells Ben, as he holds her steady in the doorway to the classroom. “I have to do this. I just have to.”

“You don't have to, Leslie, you could've waited for me in bed—”

_ “I have to,”  _ she hisses, pulling her arm from his, and her frowns, taking a step back from her. “You're not gonna be able to stop me, Ben.”

Nobody else seems to realize she's sick, and it ends up working out in her favor. She stands in front of the class with her books and her notes and she sets up her presentation, and afterwards all she can remember is the applause and the look on Ben’s face. Pure awe, his jaw dropped, clapping louder than everyone else in the class.

He holds her as they leave, carrying her books and her backpack for her. As they go out into the halls, he can't seem to take it anymore, and he pulls her to him and presses his lips to hers.

“What are you doing?” she gasps, pulling back. “I'm sick!”

Ben laughs, kissing all over her face. “Now you admit you're sick? I don't care. I don't care, I want to kiss you.” So he does, and she lets him, trying to ignore the way she can't help but smile against his lips. She doesn't remember the last time anyone's ever been this proud of her. “That was amazing. I've never seen anything like it. I just— that was… that was Leslie Knope.”

Leslie beams, her fingers digging into his arms, and for a moment, she forgets about everything. She's just happy.

…

She's laying in her bed in her own dorm room later that night contemplating how to fix things.

Ann is now five numbers ahead of her, as their shared secret notebook reveals, and Leslie is still sick. She's sick, and tired, and it's been a long day, and she has no idea how she's going to get ahead of Ann at this rate. And it just sucks, all of it sucks, because part of her wonders why she's even doing this. She wonders where she would be if neither of them agreed to this bet, because now she feels too far in to quit. Now it's only two months until the end of the semester and it's practically impossible to take it all back now.

No, she made her grave, and now she has to lie in it.

_ And Ben.  _ Ben, who calls her babe and kisses her forehead. Ben, who recently casually referred to Leslie as his  _ girlfriend  _ in conversation, and she let it go, because what else would she do? Come clean? Tell him that this isn't a real relationship and she's been using him for a bet she made with her best friend? No, it's too late for that. Even if she told him now, too much damage would be done. And she can't stop seeing him, either, or else she’ll lose this bet, and she really can't stand to lose when she's this far in.

There's a knock on her door, and when she calls for them to enter, Ben walks in, a shy smile on his face and two containers in his hands. “Hey,” he says, holding the containers up. “I brought you something. Figured you might be hungry.”

He places a to-go box of her favorite waffles on her bed, along with a tub of extra whipped cream. And she's already wanting to cry when he holds out soup, actually  _ homemade  _ soup that would've been a pain to make in the dorm kitchens, sitting down next to her on her bed. “Oh my god,” she chokes, covering her mouth with her hand. “Ben, I—”

“It's okay,” he says, wrapping an arm around her and kissing her temple. “I'll stay with you tonight, okay? We can eat waffles and soup and watch a Harrison Ford movie and fall asleep whenever we want to. Does that sound good?”

She fights hard to keep her tears in her eyes, and she realizes something. She realizes maybe there's another reason she doesn't want to call this all quits and go back on the bet. Maybe it's not just losing that she's afraid of.

_ I don't want to feel like this. _

She's trembling, and for just that moment, she decides she doesn't care about sex, and getting her numbers back up to reach Ann. She just wants to lie here and eat waffles with Ben.

“Will you hold me?” she asks him, unsure where the question came from, unsure if she wants to know.

He wraps his arms around her, pulls her so she's sitting in his lap, her back against his chest. “Of course I will,” he whispers. “I'll always hold you.”


	6. Punishment

He should've known it was a mistake.

He should've known not to look through his closet in search of that  _ one book  _ he knew Leslie would like, as she sat behind him on his bed. Because as he digs into the depths of his belongings and his fingertips brush nearly two year old newspaper clippings, he jolts backwards so fast it's like he was shot.

“Ben?” Leslie mumbles, looking up from her spot. “What's wrong?”

He barely got a look at the article. Just a glimpse of his face and the words  _ Ice Clown  _ and apparently that's all it takes to give him a full blown melt down. His heart beats rapidly in his chest and he sits back on the floor of his room, trying to get himself in control. 

_ This is stupid. So stupid, shouldn't I have a hold of myself by now? _

“I'm sorry,” he gasps, to answer Leslie’s question. She gets up, and he shakes his head, holding his hand out to her. “Don't— I… I’m okay. I'm being stupid, I'm sorry.”

But it's clear from the shaking of his hands and the way his hair sticks up from grabbing at it that he's not okay, and Leslie knows him well enough by this point not to let it go. He's never had someone do this before, never had someone sink to his level and put their arms around him like she does. She presses her palm to his heart and her forehead leans against his temple and he can feel her breathing, how steady she is, and he tries to let himself be okay again.

“I'm sorry,” he says again. “I don't know why I'm like this. You shouldn't have to…”

_ You shouldn't have to see me like this.  _ Because he's supposed to be better than this, told himself that he would be over Ice Town, that he wouldn't let it hurt him anymore. Told himself that he wouldn't let his guard down, that he would put on a brave face, that he didn't want Leslie to see him at his worst—

“Shhh,” she whispers, cupping his face, and he automatically starts to relax. “Hey, what happened? You can tell me. You can tell me anything.”

Ben swallows hard, looking into her eyes. “I just… found the articles. From the impeachment. And I'm just…  _ angry.” _

“And you have every right to be,” she says, and he shivers as her fingers brush through his hair. “I'm angry for you. Don't apologize for how you feel, okay? Don't apologize for reacting like this.”

His heart swells with affection for her, and he stares at her, drinking her in, memorizing her. Everything about her… and how he's never felt safer than when he's with her, never felt more wanted. “I don't… I don't know if I wanna talk about it,” he says truthfully, swallowing hard.

“Then we won't talk about it. What do you wanna do?”

Maybe it's the wrong choice. Maybe he's too emotionally fragile, and he should pull back and watch a movie and distract himself in some other way. But his best distraction has always been her, and he can't stop looking at her now, at her eyes and her lips. “I want you,” he says hoarsely. “I need you.”

She responds in kind, in the best way possible, leaning in to him and pressing her lips to his. He wastes no time in reacting, both hands reaching out to grab her face and pull her closer, hold her tighter. He bites her bottom lip and she moans softly, giving him all the permission he needs to take this further, to push this faster,  _ because he needs her. _

Ben doesn't care that they're still on the floor of his room and his bed is only a few feet away, there's no time to move that far. He grips her hips and moves her so she's straddling him, recapturing her lips as his fingers work on the buttons of the plaid she's wearing. She lifts his shirt over his head just as he pulls hers from her shoulders, snapping the band of her bra away with such force that for a moment, he worries that he broke it.

He holds her shoulders and pushes her back, just slightly, just enough to get a good look at her, to revel in this beautiful topless woman currently sitting in his lap. She is warm and pale and gorgeous, so perfect, his fingers trailing lightly up her stomach, along her ribcage, until he's tracing the curves of her breasts, ghosting over her nipples until they harden.

And then his free hand touches her throat, and she lifts her chin to give him room to grab her there. “Are you okay with this?” he asks her. He can feel her swallow.

“Yes,” she whispers.

“Do you remember the safeword?”

She grins, and to prove herself, says, “Nox.” A safeword that was her idea, more than his, because the reference is more on her side of nerdy, but it works all the same. 

Ben squeezes the sides of her throat, listening as she softly gasps. His free hand cups her breast, his thumb rolling over her nipple, and he's so overcome with affection for her that he loses himself in what he's saying. “Good girl,” he whispers, and then— “I love you.”

_ Shit. _

…

Leslie’s gut twists, and she freezes in place.

This may be the worst possible position for Ben to have told her he loves her.

Neither of them move for a second, with her on his lap and his hands on her throat and her chest and it's awkward, so fucking awkward, because both of them can tell something went wrong. And it needs to be fixed, pushed past,  _ now,  _ before this gets worse.

Leslie’s voice trembles. “You… you love me?”

Ben’s hands quickly retract from her body, pulling them to his chest, and then to hide his face.  _ “Shit,  _ shit, I'm sorry, that was too soon. I didn't— I wasn't— Ignore me, okay? I'm really sorry—”

Oh god, this is bad. This is very, very bad, because as much as Ben wants her to, and as much as she wants to, she can't just ignore what he said. It echoes tauntingly in her head and she knows that even if he tries to take it back, he meant what he said. Those three words came from his gut, the depth of his feelings, but he sensed her panic and he backed off. If she could reciprocate… it would be a different story.

“Hey,” she whispers, and she's fighting to keep the fear out of her voice. She cups his face and drags him back up to look at her. “Hey, it's okay. You're emotional, and we just…”

“Move past it?”

“Yeah! We move past it. We were in the middle of something, right? We should do that?” Because sex is the best way to get her mind off things. Sex is the best way to make her brain go completely blank.

Slowly, Ben pulls his hands from his hair and brings them back to her waist, gripping softly, as if waiting for more permission. He's shaky, she feels it on her skin, and neither one of them wants to meet the other in the eye. “We should,” Ben says. “Yeah, we should go back to what we were doing.”

She has to get this back on track.  _ She has to,  _ before guilt consumes her. “I need you to do something for me, Ben.”

“Anything.”

She leans close to his ear, pressing her breasts to his chest, her fingers curling into his arm.  _ “I need you to punish me, Ben.” _

At first, he doesn't seem to get it. “But you haven't done anything to—”

“Ben.” Her nails curl into his skin, as if to leave marks, to jolt him out of his mind and bring him back into something a bit more physical. “Punish me.” And then, to seal the deal:  _ “Please?” _

It's all the permission he needs, because suddenly it's like he's completely  _ snapped,  _ grabbing her by the arm and pulling her up, just to immediately bend her over his bed. She inhales at the impact, trying to sit up a little, but his hand is very firmly planted on the small of her back to keep her in place as he works on her jeans.

She pushes her face into the blankets as soon as he rips down both her jeans and her underwear in one solid swipe, and she knows what he's going to do before he even does it. She can't see, squeezing her eyes shut, anticipating the impact as his palm  _ slams  _ down onto her ass.

Leslie gasps, unable to help herself, gripping the blankets around her like a lifeline.

He spanks her again, and he doesn't hold back, doesn't even try to start out gently. It's quick and it's rough and Leslie is gasping and writhing underneath him, the whimpering getting louder every time his palm slams down again. And for a moment, a blissful moment, this sort of distraction works, because the pain combined with the pleasure makes her mind go numb, until all she can think about is the sound of his strikes, his heavy breathing above her, the stinging of her ass.

But then he spreads her legs, moves one hand from her back, and gently strokes her, and she knows, suddenly, that she doesn't deserve this. He pushes one finger inside her and curls, and she releases a moan that she hates the sound of, because it's  _ wrong,  _ this is just  _ wrong. _

_ She is a terrible, awful person. _

Her legs shake as he continues to finger her, his other hand once again rising to spank her simultaneously. The pleasure mixes with the pain and she almost starts to cry, because she thinks, now, that maybe the pain is all that she deserves.

Punishment is what she deserves. She doesn't deserve the trust or the love he has for her, doesn't deserve the way he looks at her, like she holds up the world, doesn't deserve his gentle touches or goodnight kisses or the coffees he buys her. She doesn't deserve to know about Ice Town, to see him at his most vulnerable, to see him naked, and she certainly doesn't deserve to profit off of her lies with pleasure, or numbers to add to her notebook, or orgasms.

He’ll make her come anyway. He always does. But for now her ass is red and she is trembling and there is only two things that she's sure of in that moment:

One, she deserves to be punished.

And two, she doesn't deserve to be loved by Ben Wyatt.


	7. Should've Known

As soon as Leslie gets back from Ben’s dorm the next day, feeling swollen and sore and broken, she's pounding on the door to Ann’s room, the panic coming to her in a flood.

“Ann— Ann, open up,  _ please.” _

Leslie is heaving and trying not to cry and her heart hurts, it hurts so badly that when Ann finally cracks open her door with wide eyes and fear in her face, Leslie doesn't even notice.

“Leslie, I need to tell you something—”

“I'm in huge trouble, Ann,” Leslie says, steamrolling over her. “I'm in trouble, I did a bad thing. This was so terrible and we shouldn't have done this—”

“I agree, just let me—”

“He told me that he loves me, Ann!” Leslie is in hysterics, forgetting how to breathe for a moment. “Ben loves me! And I didn't know what to say because  _ shit,  _ Ann, I can't tell him the truth now. It'll break his heart—”

“Holy shit, Ben said he loves you? Oh my god, oh no—”

“Ann,” she chokes, “Ann. I don't want to lose him, Ann. I care about him, I actually do. Not just for sex, but for something more. I wanna be with him. I want to tell him I love him too, isn't that terrible? Isn't that the worst thing you've ever heard? But I've told him too many lies and it's too late to take them back now, he’ll hate me, it'll destroy him.”

_ “Leslie.” _

She stops only because Ann has started to sob, her mascara running down her cheeks. She can't even look Leslie in the eye, burying her face in her hands, her shoulders trembling.

“What's… what is it?”

“I'm so sorry,” Ann cries, her voice muffled, broken. “I didn't know all of that, I didn't know he loved you, I didn't know you wanted to be with him, I…”

Suddenly, the air is cold. Something changes between the two of them, and Ann can't bear to face Leslie as she says her next words.

“I got… I got drunk last night,” she whispers. “I let something slip to Chris. And he found the notebook, with our numbers in it. And I think… I think he's going to tell Ben.”

…

Ben flinches when Chris slams a pink notebook in front of him, looking more upset than he's seen him in a while.

“You might want to look at this,” he says, his mouth pressed into a thin line. “For me, it's… it's whatever. But I know for you, with how you feel…”

“What is this?” Ben asks, picking up the notebook without looking inside it. “What are you talking about? What's wrong?”

Chris tenses, and settles into the seat next to him at their tiny dining table. “I really, really didn't want to be the one to tell you this. But I fear Ann and Leslie haven't been entirely honest with us.”

Ben shakes his head, pushing the notebook aside so he can get back to his assignment. “Did you and Ann get into a fight or something?”

“Or something. But it's not me and Ann I'm concerned about. She and I never found ourselves in a proper relationship. You and Leslie Knope on the other hand…”

He already doesn't like what he's insinuating. Ben rolls his eyes, looks away from Chris, and picks up his pen. “Leslie’s my girlfriend, Chris. I trust her. So just say what you wanna say or move on, because I have work to finish.”

Chris looks genuinely pained, to say the least, his eyes wide and sad, but Ben doesn't want to see that. He doesn't want to see any of it. He wants to ignore the notebook and the twisting feeling in his gut and the memory that Leslie didn't say she loved him back. It wasn't the right time, he has to take things slower, and Chris is being paranoid. Ben is fine,  _ he’s fine. _

He has an amazing girlfriend who lets him rant about the  _ Star Wars  _ prequels and has resigned to his love for calzones and holds him close to her heart when he's thinking about Partridge.

He's fine.

Chris slides the notebook back over to Ben. “I'm so, so sorry,” he whispers. “But I don't want her to continue breaking your heart like this, Ben. You're my best friend.”

“She's not breaking my heart—”

“Just look at this, and then decide for yourself. I'll go… and you can ask Leslie about  _ the bet.” _

Chris walks away, out of their dorms, and Ben is left alone again with that stupid pink notebook. He wants to ignore it, push it out of his mind and focus on school. He wants to trust that everything will be okay and he has no reason to doubt Leslie, but the fear creeps in, and once again he remembers the look on her face right after he said he loved her.

Ben groans, and opens up the notebook.

… 

There's nothing but the sound of her feet pounding on the pavement as Leslie runs across campus to get back to Ben’s dorm room.

She's working with pure adrenaline as the only thing keeping her going, coursing through her veins, shocking her system. Every nerve is on fire and the wind hits her face as she runs faster, nearly tripping more than a few times, but she doesn't care, she doesn't care. The only thing that's important right now is getting to Ben before Chris tells him everything, before Leslie can't even explain for herself what she did.

Either way, the truth will be coming out tonight. There's no escaping that. And nothing drives Leslie crazier than not even having a  _ plan,  _ a course of action, a binder or two to prepare her for this situation of breaking Ben Wyatt’s heart. Because she knows, now, that it's inevitable— she will be losing him tonight. 

She will be losing him and all she can do is try to think of a way to soften the blow the most. Not for her sake, because her grave is already dug, but for his, so his heart can remain intact, so he doesn't leave tonight shattered. 

She doesn't want to hurt him. But that's the worst part, isn't it? She already has.

Leslie’s out of breath by the time she reaches Ben’s door, pounding on it like her life depends on it. And for too long, he doesn't answer, leaving her shouting his name outside his dorm way too loudly for this time of night, her chest heaving, like she's going to cave in on herself. And she wonders, briefly, as she spirals, if she's too late. If Chris has already told him anything and she won't even have a chance to explain herself, because he’ll never open up again and he'll be gone.

But the door opens. Slowly, deliberately. Ben is strangely calm, as he steps outside and closes his door behind him, but it doesn't fool her. His hair is sticking straight up, like it always does when he's been pulling at it, and his guard is up. There's an uncharacteristic lack of emotion in his eyes as he looks at her, and she knows,  _ she knows. _

_ “Ben—”  _ she gasps, but he holds his hand up, stopping her in her tracks.

He takes a deep breath before he speaks, looking her directly in her eyes. “I'm only going to ask you this once,” he whispers, his voice hoarse. “And I need you to tell me the truth.”

“Ben, wait—”

_ “The truth.  _ I've gathered enough information to have an idea. But I need to hear it from you. And, Leslie?” His brow furrows as he looks at her, a slight tilt of his head, and she notices the way his hands shake, how he's trying so hard not to look too vulnerable. “I need you to know. If you tell me Chris was lying… if you tell me it's all a big misunderstanding, I'll believe you.”

He's giving her an out, a way to lie and make it through this alive, but she just can't take it. She's too guilty and it's eating her alive, and she doesn't want to lie to him about anything anymore, not when she's done enough damage.

“You really shouldn't have to much faith in me,” she chokes, the words torture to her ears. “You shouldn't say that. You really,  _ really  _ shouldn't trust me.”

Ben purses his lips, takes a minute to shut his eyes, and then continues. “Okay,” he breathes. “Okay. Then, like I said, I'm only going to ask you this once. What are those dates and numbers in your notebook for?”

_ Right to the chase, he even has that damn notebook.  _ “I— It was how we kept track.”

“Kept track of  _ what?” _

Her voice is so quiet that she can barely hear herself. “Keep track of how many times we had sex.”

Ben can barely conceal the way he's shaking, pulling his hands from his pockets to run them through his hair, gripping so tightly at the strands that she worries he’ll pull them out. “And  _ why,  _ why God, would you need to keep track of how many times you and I had sex?”

She doesn't want to say it. More than anything, she doesn't want to say it, but what else can she do? There's no more room for lies, not when she's done enough of that. And she wants to be strong, she wants to hold out and answer his questions and talk to him rationally, but something within her seems to snap, and suddenly the tears are coming with such force that it's painful.

“Ben,” she sobs, the sound ripping from her throat. “Ben, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I never meant to… I didn't want to hurt you, not like this. I didn't think that you would care, but it's  _ not like that anymore—” _

“Answer the goddamn question, Leslie,” he hisses, and she just cries louder, harder, clutching her heart as it physically pains her. “Answer the question. Why would you need to keep track of how many times you and I had sex?”

“It was a stupid  _ bet, okay!  _ It was a stupid bet Ann and I made over who could have sex first, and it ended up going way too far—”

“So, what? I was just a target to you? Someone you could easily manipulate?”

_ “No, Ben!  _ No, not like that, Ben, please. I fucked up, I really fucked up, but please believe me when I say it's not like that anymore, it's not—”

“So this… this  _ whole time…  _ we were just  _ fucking?  _ Is that it?” He stares at her with wide eyes filled to the brim with tears he can't conceal, reaching his breaking point the same as her. His voice rises, until he's fully yelling at her. “This whole time, when I thought you looked at me as your boyfriend… when… when I kissed you, every time I fell asleep next to you?  _ When I told you I loved you?” _

_ “You took that back!” _

_ “I took that back because you fucking forced it on me!”  _ Their screaming is reaching new heights, his finger pointed right at her, and there's no mistaking now that Ben is sobbing too. “Because I knew… I knew deep down, from that look on your face, that you didn't love me back. So yeah, I took it back. I moved on. Clearly I should've known then that this whole time, in your eyes, we were just  _ fucking.” _

Leslie can't take it anymore, and she rushes forward, reaching for him, trying just to take his hands, so she can't squeeze them, feel their warmth and how they shake, try to make him understand. Because any plan to let him walk away is now thrown out the window in her desperation, and she just needs him,  _ she needs him.  _ She doesn't want to continue on with this night if he isn't with her.

But she doesn't get far, grabbing for him, when he rips himself away from her, pulling backwards until his back hits his dorm room door, slamming with the impact. His chest rises and falls rapidly, shaking his head at her, trying to get in control of his breathing through the tears. “Don't touch me,” he says. “You don't get to touch me. Not anymore.”

“Ben,” she whispers, her hands still outstretched. “Ben, please believe me when I say it's not like that anymore. It just started out that way, it started out as some horrible bet that I didn't think would hurt anyone. But I  _ care  _ about you, Ben, I care about you so much, and I just… I wanna be with you.”

Ben holds his hand up again to stop her, and she listens, she obeys, even when there's so much more she wants to say. “You don't get to say that,” he tells her, and it's eerie, how quickly his tone has gone dead and even again. “Don't you dare say that. Because if all of this has been fake, how do I know this isn't?”

She wants to scream, scream until her voice gives out and she can't anymore, her throat raw. “It's not fake,” she begs. “Please,  _ please  _ believe me.”

“Oh yeah?” He watches her, jaw set, steady against his door. “If it's not fake, then tell me you love me, Leslie.”

She freezes, and she feels like ice cold water has been dumped on her head. With just those words, as if giving her some second chance, some reason to hope, she's been rendered somehow useless. And she wants to say them, more than anything in the world, she wants to fall into his arms and tell him she loves him like she told Ann she did just an hour ago.

The words are on the tip of her tongue, so why can't she say them?

Ben shakes his head, as if he's not surprised, but she sees the way the light leaves his eyes, the way his chin quivers. “Yeah,” he mumbles, more to himself than anything. “I thought so.”

He opens his door and escapes into his dorm room, locking it behind him, and he never once looks back, not as far as she can see. She doesn't know if it would've been any easier if he had.

She drops to her knees on the asphalt and she cries, she cries until she can't anymore. And she begs the universe for forgiveness, even if it doesn't grant it.

She doesn't think she deserves it, anyway.


End file.
